An Affair to Remember-Sherlock Fanfic

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John looked at the strange apparatus that Sherlock laid on the bed. His eyes sparkled like a cat that has laid its catch in front of its beloved person. John frowned, while he wheeled around the bed. "I give up. What is it?"

Sherlock's shoulders slumped, disappointed that John couldn't peer into the nuances of his convoluted mind. "It's a machine, so that you can be on top if you want to."

John smiled a slow, seductive smile, when Sherlock blushed. "You know you are so cute when you blush like that."

Sherlock huffed, then began to fold up his creation. John edged closer, placing his hand on Sherlock's wrist. "Hold on there. I didn't say I wouldn't try it. Explain, how does it work?"

"Well," Sherlock began, "you sit back in this part like a chair."

John grinned, losing focus on the meaning of Sherlock's spoken instructions. My husband is so hot. He made a sex chair for me.

Sherlock's heart rate shot up, when he finally had John strapped in. Topped. I am going to be topped by my sexy, Doctor. I can't wait until the surgery, until he is whole once again. What if it's a sham? What if there is no surgery to help my beloved? What if my poor John can't be fixed? How will he deal with lifelong pain and the complications that come with it? How will I deal with his lifelong agony? How will I be able to remain sober? No, stop it. I am not an addict. I just use to alleviate boredom and elevate my thinking processes. That's all the seven percent solution is, isn't it? Isn't it?

Sherlock's tortured thoughts dwindled away, when John reached down and pinched his thigh. "Hey, this whole thing would be better if you would participate as well." Then he smiled and Sherlock was once again lost in the depths of his loving expression.

How can you love me? Then all thought drifted from the genius detective's mind, when his lover entered his physical and mental mind palace, taking them both by storm. God, it works. My machine works. My...calculations were correct...

I forgot how great it was to top, John thought when he released the lever that would lower his twisted spine to a place where he could penetrate Sherlock. I'm gonna make him scream. Mine. He's mine, whole or not. "John...let your body fall. Let gravity and the machine take it. All the way in..."

"Sherlock, stop talking."

Sherlock reached up, gripping John's arms, until they were both entwined. In me. I need you in me now. His eyes teared up and all he could utter was, "John...please."

John's body shuddered in pleasure, when he lowered himself into Sherlock, his insides, engulfing them both in warm moist flesh. Tight. He's so tight. Then the visceral aspect of passion overtook them both, the chair rocking back and forth while John's body thrust itself forward, reveling in the fact that it was no longer confined.

Sherlock's eyes flew open and he gripped John's forearms tighter when he felt a brush against his prostrate. Accidental? Then as if reading his mind, John pummeled his target again and again until they both moaning, Sherlock's extensive vocabulary silenced, replaced with guttural grunts and whimpers.

***

Mycroft watched Sherlock while he slept on one of the Learjet's recliners. He hadn't seen his little brother rest so soundly in years. His hawk like features relaxed into a mask of softness, while his chest cavity rose and abated from the oxygen that passed through it. John slept in his chair, while his head lolled against Sherlock's shoulder.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Irene whispered in Mycroft's ear, running her long nails down the back of his neck. "We must keep them safe. It would be a shame if something happened to one of them. How long do you think Sherlock would last without his Doctor or vice versa?" When Mycroft didn't answer, Irene continued. "Who would have thought that Sherlock Holmes would have found true love? That's something that you and I will never know."

Laura sat watching the scene unfold before her with interest. Things are going to change once I get my hands on whatever lays in that safe deposit box. Lives will change, perhaps even end. John will surely walk again, but will he accept the price that has been paid for his freedom from that chair? Only time will tell. The real game begins now and the Queen will take the board. She then smiled, reveling in sensation of the uncertain future before them.

A slight jolt of turbulence shook John awake, his head bumping against Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock opened his eyes, looking down at John in tenderness. The glance between them held, then Sherlock blinked, becoming all business once more. He looked down at his watch. "We should be landing soon. Time for battle."

Laura smiled, then held up her wine glass. "Cheers, to the upcoming battle. To the victor go the spoils."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed and his gaze didn't waver as he locked eyes with Laura. Indeed, battle is just my game.

***

Once they were settled into their respective hotel rooms, Sherlock ran a warm bath for John to soak in, thinking it ironic that he was taking care of someone instead of the other way around. Hearing John splash around in the water brought a smile to his face. John.

"Sherlock, I'm ready to come out now."

Sherlock then made his way to the bathroom, where John waited for him. John's hair stuck to his face in wet strips, tempting Sherlock to carry him away to the bed. He sighed. Focus, there's work to be done. He then lifted John out of the tub and into the chair, drying him off with a towel, then rubbing lotion into his skin. John looked up at him while he worked.

"You brought the special lotion from home."

Sherlock grinned, then blushed. "I know how it soothes your skin."

"So, with all that's going on you thought to bring my lotion? I think you're getting soft." John teased.

Sherlock kneaded the tense muscles in John's neck. "Never. When it comes to you, I'm always hard."

John laughed. "Come on help me get dressed or we'll never make it to the bank."

Sherlock sighed. I wonder what would happen if we just left and never came back. Just the two of us against the rest of the world. Then he watched as John's heat flushed face turned white when a spasm racked his body.

"Jesus, I must have stayed in the hot water too long. Sherlock grab my bag and get me a pain pill."

Sherlock's hand shook when he opened the bottle and fished out one white pill. Just one for John? Maybe I should take one too, just to settle my nerves and to clarify my thinking processes. The internal conflict raged within him, then he sighed, noting the sound the pill made when it clattered against the rest of its counterparts. Like skeletal bones, rattle, rattle, rattle...

John took the pill, then swallowed it down, unaware of Sherlock's struggle.